Chin Up, Buttercup
by bemusedbicycle
Summary: An association drabble a day - countdown to the start of 3b. A collection of one word prompts including strip-poker, hair, tattoos, touch, and more.
1. Hair

**Hook + Hair**

He finds her in the thick of battle by the swing of her braid – her blonde strands glinting bright in the sun. She always wears her hair like this when they fight – piled high on top of her head, held back in a single thick plait. She moves quickly, ducking under swinging blades – using a combination of her strength and magic to fight off her attackers.

"Swan!" She knocks out the man sneaking up on her weak side with one careful flick of her wrist before swinging her head in his direction, braid swinging with her. She meets his gaze and her eyes are alive with battle, grin tugging at her lips. He watches her for a second – helpless not to – lost in the way sweat works its way down her neck, shirt clinging to her curves.

She manages to be a vision – even like this – _especially _like this.

She arches her eyebrow – no doubt noticing his perusal – and rolls her eyes slightly before pushing out with her hand, an attacker letting out a sharp groan of pain to his left. He chuckles and turns his attention away from her, cutting down another with a quick swing of his sword.

-/-

They barely make it back to their quarters before he's on her, fingers shaking as he pulls at her tunic, teeth closing over the juncture between her shoulder and throat. Battle always makes them heady for each other – the adrenaline of the fight mixing with anxiety for each other's safety to produce something truly desperate. She lifts her arms and falls into his lips as he wrenches off her shirt, flinging it to some far off corner of the room. She's frantic against him - mouth slanting, teeth nipping. He groans when her tongue slides against his, fingers tugging at his vest.

"Emma." Hand and hook on her waist, he backs her up until her legs knock into the large desk where he stacks his navigation books. They fall to the floor in a tumble as she pushes herself back, spreading her knees wide and tugging him forward by his belt buckle.

"Need you." She whispers and he growls low in the back of his throat, fingers sliding over bare skin, tweaking at her nipple. She's covered in blood and dirt and sweat, but he's never seen anything more beautiful.

She pants and arches into his touch, head falling back, body bending_._

He dances his hand higher, slides along the smooth column of her throat. His lips find her sensitive peak as he wraps her long braid around his hand, tugging hard and arching her further. She moans – long and loud – and lets him shape her, knowing he needs this – that he needs this control.

He tugs her hair and relishes in the way she writhes for him, green eyes wide and needy. His hook anchors in her pants and he pulls them down, keeping them trapped around her ankles as he slides into her without ceremony.

She pants against him and he tugs her head back further, forcing her to arch her back as he pounds into her. Her legs scrabble for purchase against his hips as he slams her into the worn wood – again and again and _again_ – and when she comes its tight and hot and fast and _everything_.

He follows quickly, head falling to her chest, hand releasing its grip on her braid. Her fingers come to soothe over his shoulders and her lips are gentle when they press against his neck.

"Love you." His voice is a broken whisper in the sudden stillness of the room. She smiles against his skin, fingers raking through his thick hair.

"Me too."

-/-

The water of the tub is warm against his bruised and battered skin, her body pressed up tight against his front. She takes his arm and pulls it in front of her, wet fingers scrubbing gently at his skin – washing away the blood and the grime. He smiles at her patient attentions, lips falling to her neck with a heavy sigh. He breathes her in and nuzzles further with closed eyes.

"Don't fall asleep in here, you'll drown." She lets his hand drop back to the water and he grins, tickling her side lightly.

"But how could I fall asleep with a deliciously naked Swan in my arms?" His fingers lightly graze her breast and she shifts, pushing back against him with a quiet moan. As if on cue, an enormous yawn shakes his body, jaw protesting with a violent crack. She chuckles softly.

"Enough of that, Romeo." She sighs and lets her head fall back against his shoulder. "It's been a day."

His fingers dig into the tender skin of her neck and she hums in appreciation. "Aye, that it has."

He slides his hand over her braid, loosening it at the bottom and working slowly with one hand to untwist the thick strands. She sighs as he works – careful not to tangle her hair further – taking his time to loosen her wild curls. He combs his fingers through her hair and gently removes the tie at the top of her head, sending her hair cascading around them.

His fingers massage her scalp and she practically melts against him, sliding further into the water.

"God, that feels amazing." He bites his tongue against the innuendo and she peeks open one eye, smile curling her lips upwards. "You must be tired."

He chuckles and pushes her forward gently, reaching for their towels at the edge of the tub. He presses a kiss against her hair. "Dreadfully so, darling. Let's go to sleep."

-/-

He falls asleep with his face buried in her hair – breathing her in, holding her close.


	2. Handcuffs

**Hook and Emma + Handcuffs**

He pulls at the cuffs, the muscles of his arms tensing and relaxing with the movement. He arches an eyebrow and she just smirks, running a finger across his collarbone. He looks so nice – trussed up like this. Chest bare, arms pulled back around the chair, leather pants already unlaced – just waiting for her to climb on, _so to speak_. He shifts slightly under her perusal and she grins when she notices the bulge in his pants.

"Really, love?" He shifts again with a sharp breath when she lets her robe slide off one shoulder – revealing the very lacey, very _transparent_, black negligee underneath.

She slides onto his lap, groaning slightly when he thrusts up, making contact with her center. He grins at the sound – dropping his head forward and scraping his teeth along the column of her throat. She grips his shoulders and shifts, smiling when his lips falter, desperate sound lodged in the back of his throat.

She drops her robe and he pants beneath her, pupils dilating as his gaze lingers on her chest. Her fingers thread through his hair and she tugs him forward, moaning when his lips close over her breast through the thin lace. She circles her hips and his arms strain against the cuffs.

"I thought you liked a, oh - " His nose pushes down the fabric and then his tongue is warm and wet on her sensitive skin. He nips lightly. " – a challenge."

-/-

She winces when he dabs gently at the deep cut around her right wrist, hissing through her teeth at the burn. His thumb rubs at the unmarked skin of her palm and she sighs lightly, ignoring the way her grimace pulls at her split lip.

Her week with the witch had been eventful.

"Sorry, love." He leans back as she opens her eyes, reaching for the small bowl of water on the desk behind him. The ship rocks quietly beneath them, the sound of pounding feet on the deck above them the only sound in his quiet quarters.

"Thank you." She whispers and he stills, looking at her with arched eyebrows. "For finding me."

A shadow passes over his face but he blinks it away quickly. He averts his gaze and reaches for her left wrist, giving the mirrored cut the same attention.

"I will always find you." He mutters.

Something in her stomach flips and she snorts, the famed words of her parents courtship echoing around her. His hand stills and he glances up at her, lips twisting into an even deeper frown (no doubt at the way she is losing it _completely_). She sighs and raises her fingers to his cheek, rubbing at the tired lines around his eyes. He looks _exhausted_.

"She bound you?" He questions and she watches as something breaks in his eyes.

She nods and tries to smile, but she's pretty sure all she manages is a pained baring of her teeth – judging by the way he winces.

"Cuffs." They both look down at her red and raw wrists. "Now I know how you felt all those times."

He drops the washcloth back into the bowl with a sigh, fingers dancing lightly over the bruise that encompasses half her cheek. His eyes follow. "Something tells me this was a bit different, lass."

She hums in agreement, letting her body tilt forward into his. She's so tired – the pain and the fear and the anxiety of the past week taking its toll. He stiffens when her forehead falls against his shoulder, but then his fingers come up to tangle in her hair.

"We need to dress your wounds." She doesn't respond, instead chooses to breathe him in. She noses against the skin of his neck and he lets out a shuddering sigh, fingers tightening fractionally. "Emma, you're hurt."

"I'm tired." She responds and on cue a wide yawn overcomes her. Her jaw cracks against the motion and the bruise on her face aches. "Please, can we just go to bed?"

He stills again, entire body turning to stone beneath her. His voice is a breathy whisper when he questions -

"We?"

And she knows they've never done this before, slept in the same bed without sex. And she doesn't know _what_ they are, their friends with benefits situation spiraling way out of control months ago. But she does know he just traipsed about the entire realm looking for her, and she knows he rescued her - _again_.

She knows how she feels about him – deep and sure and terrifying.

So she lets her hand rest of the steady thrum of his heart, fingers curling over the edge of his vest, pulling herself further into him.

"Yes, you idiot. We."

-/-

"Well this certainly is a change of pace."

She glares at him from her side of the cruiser, attempting to cross her arms over her chest but meeting resistance by the hand that's cuffed to his. He grins and chuckles softly, tugging on the cuff so that she has to move closer to him.

"Relax, darling." He presses a kiss against her neck. "It's not like he saw anything."

She pushes away from him, swatting at him with her free hand. "Oh, is that why we are sitting in the back of this police cruiser, under arrest for public indecency? Because my _father_ - "She narrows her eyes as he bites his lip, desperate in his attempt to hold back his grin. "Didn't _see anything_?"

His shoulders shake with suppressed laughter and Emma huffs, glancing out the window to see David stalking back and forth in a furious lap around the car.

This whole thing is so _stupid_. She is a grown woman – a grown woman who had been arrested for straddling her pirate boyfriend in a public park by her _father_.

"Your father isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, is he?" Hook's mouth is suddenly against her ear, his breath warm against the sensitive skin. She shivers despite herself. "Cuffing me to his daughter?" The metal of the cuffs clicks together as his warm fingers dance along her thigh. She lets her head fall back with a sigh – everything she was feeling _before_ her father caught them up against a tree rushing back to her.

"Alone in the back of a dark car." His fingers dance higher and her eyes snap open. She swats his hand away.

"Are you _joking_ right now?"

His grin is smug.


	3. Rum

**Hook and Emma + Rum**

Her eyes burn with unshed tears and her throat is raw from the words that won't come so she keeps her eyes focused on the empty shot glass in front of her. She nudges it forward with her pointer finger, closer to the half-empty bottle and the fingers that grip it.

"Another." She whispers and she winces at how she sounds – desperate and needy. But she _is_ desperate and needy. Everyone needs too much – everyone _takes _too much. She has nothing left to give, not anymore.

He doesn't say a word, just refills her glass. She keeps her eyes on the wood of the table and throws the shot back as soon as the amber liquid hits the top. She plunks the small glass down heavily and slides it back towards him.

"Another."

Again, he says nothing. He just refills her glass because he knows what this is – knows how she burns and twists on the inside – suffocating without a word because they _need_ her – the savior. She had shown up at his door in the dead of night and he had said nothing, just got the glasses and started pouring, blue eyes blown open wide in their understanding.

Because he understands - he sees _her_.

A whimper bubbles up in her throat and she slams her eyes shut, shaking her head hard. Her hand blindly grabs for the glass and in her haste she knocks it clean off the table, glass shattering on the floor. Something in her shatters along with it and she falls to the ground, shaking hands trying to pick up jagged shards.

"I'm sorry, I didn't – "

Warm fingers close over her wrist, hand hovering over the broken glass. Her chest heaves on a desperate inhale and she looks up.

"I'm sorry." She whispers and she hates it when her lower lip trembles.

His lips tilt up slightly, eyes so knowing and sad and _blue_, god damn him. What is she even doing here? What is she even _doing_?

His fingers tug on hers gently, hooked hand guiding her up and over the broken glass. He sits her back in her chair and gives her shoulder a firm squeeze. His eyes are serious as he looks down at her, putting the bottle in her hand.

"You've nothing to be sorry for, love." She takes the bottle and his hand comes to cup her cheek, skin warm and rough and warm and _god_ – her eyes close.

-/-

She looks up at him from the small table as he mills about the quarters, nervous energy making him twitchy and apprehensive.

And while his nerves at being alone with her _should_ make her equally as nervous, it doesn't. Instead, it makes her calm. It makes her feel special and wanted and cherished and all of the other things she sees when he looks at her.

He ducks down into a chest as she takes a sip from her glass, rummaging about for god knows what – only to stand up abruptly and slam his head against a low-hanging shelf. She snorts into her glass as a string of creative curses leave his mouth and he turns slowly on his heel, giving her a muted glare.

"Something funny, Swan?"

She leans back in her seat and takes another gulp of rum. The rough warmth and spice of it coats down her throat and she feels light. She gives him a small smile.

"Just you."

He rolls his eyes and saunters over to the table, fingers rubbing tenderly at the back of his skull. She snickers as he falls into the seat across from her.

She doesn't miss the way he grins into his glass.

-/-

She turns over in bed – fingers searching, eyes opening on a small gasp when she finds nothing but cold sheets. She bites her lip and fingers the edge of the pillowcase – pushing away the crushing disappointment and irrational hope that had flared in her chest when she let him stay.

She thought it would be different – she thought _he _was different.

Flashes of tangled limbs and panting breaths flash through her mind. Delicate promises whispered in the heat of the moment - tender touches and soft kisses.

Of course it meant nothing.

_Of course of course of course._

She stills when a loud crash sounds from the kitchen – already reaching for the gun on the bedside table. She moves quickly and quietly, the open air of the loft cold on the bare skin of her legs. A Sherriff really shouldn't try to take anyone out in nothing but a faded band t-shirt and a pair of lace boy shorts, but her options are pretty limited at the moment.

She stills completely when she sees him in the kitchen.

Dark jeans slung low, chest bare – she watches as he scrubs at the floor with a towel. She blinks at the steaming mug on the counter and looks back to him.

He wasn't leaving – he was making her breakfast.

Another feeling entirely seizes her chest and she lowers her gun, placing it on the counter. He looks up at her and, jesus – is that a _blush_- gives her a sheepish grin. He stands up abruptly and leans casually against the counter.

She crosses her arms over her chest and he makes an appreciative sound, low in his throat. He takes a step towards her, lips finding her neck, fingers ducking under her shirt to find the bare skin of her hip.

"I thought you left." She whispers. He tenses against her, pulling back fractionally. His nose rubs along hers.

"Do you wish me to leave?"

She sighs at the vulnerability in his voice. Even after everything – even after battles and bruises and promises kept – they are still so broken. She pauses and then lets her fingers slide along his collarbone, drifting up to anchor in his hair. Her lips meet his in a chaste kiss and his fingers tighten their grip on his hip.

_I was afraid you left. _

She doesn't say it. Instead she hums into his mouth when he naturally deepens the kiss. She pulls back and looks over to the mug.

"What's this?"

He scratches at the back of his head in what she's come to understand as a nervous tick. "Ah, I attempted to make us some coffee. But only got away with one, I'm afraid."

She picks up the mug and holds it close to her chest, letting the heat of the coffee warm her cold hands. "More for me then."

She takes a sip and almost spits it back out. She looks up at him, incredulous.

"Is there rum in this?"

He grins.


	4. Scars

**Hook and Emma + Scars**

She wears her scars like badges of honor – painful reminders on never to _trust_, never to _love_, never to _hope_. She wears them in the shoe string around her wrist and the necklace around her throat. She wears them in the name she's chosen for herself – the remnants of a family that didn't want her, a scared little girl carelessly tossed aside.

She wears them in the way she moves – in the hunch of her shoulders and the frown on her lips. She wears them in her eyes – shielded and jumpy, never quite seeing, never quite believing. She is cynical and _scared_, but everyone focuses on the first – and soon she hardens herself to anger instead of fear.

(His words are gentle and insistent – spoken slowly so she has time to read the truth in his eyes. He grins at her over the table and when his fingers slowly crawl over to hers, she doesn't resist.)

("Shall we bring Henry home some pie?")

(He says _home _like he means it – like he's going to _stay_.)

(His heart beats a steady staccato under her fingers when he presses her palm flat against his chest and she learns to believe.)

His scars are much more visible – scattered across his body in fine and thick lines. There is an ugly one over his chest, merging with the tattoo over his heart – an attempt to burn away his old self, the memory of a lost brother. There are a myriad of thin long ones across his back – the price of a kingdom betrayed, taken out in severe lashes. The scars that wrap his wrist are ugly and jagged as is the hook that covers it. He sometimes sits alone and traces the rough skin with his fingertips – eyes hardening, chest seizing.

He becomes Hook – over and over and _over_.

(She soothes her fingers over each and every mark, her lips warm and gentle as she chases the pain away. Warm fingers tangle in her hair and he breathes out – his lips finding the crown of her head as her smile burns into his skin.)

("Killian." She whispers and the whimper lodges in his throat.)


	5. Strip Poker

**Hook and Emma + Strip Poker**

When she gets the very vague, very strange text message from a blocked number – she knows in the back of her mind she should just go home. She _knows_ it can't possibly end well. She's got a brand new bottle of wine and a stack of cheesy sci-fi movies and she is _tired_.

But her curiosity is piqued, _damnit_, and she _is _the Sherriff and it _is _an anonymous tip – she should atleast go check it out.

She sighs and turns down the side street that leads to The Rabbit Hole, frowning down at the text message in question.

_Drunk and disorderly conduct at The Rabbit Hole._

She pushes open the door and is immediately greeted by a complete and total _shit show_. Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene, mouth gaping open.

Everyone in the bar is crowded around the center table where Ruby, Hook and David are seated – heads bent in concentration. The crowd around them is so dense she can only make out Hook's face, eyebrows drawn together low on his forehead. There is some murmuring and then Ruby lets out a jubilant shriek, standing and pointing a finger at Hook who groans, dropping his head to the table.

Emma pushes herself forward through the crowd and that's when she realizes Ruby is wearing Hook's massive leather jacket, her _father_ is clothed only in his white tank top undershirt and Hook – _jesus_ – is completely bare chested.

"Pants! Pants! Pants!" The crowd around them whoops and hollers and Emma realizes with slowly dawning horror that they are playing strip poker.

Hook stands with all the pomp and circumstance she's come to expect from him, pushing his chair back with dramatic flair. Her eyes drift down his strong chest and – _jesus motherfucking christ, _she _knew_ this was a bad idea – down the path of dark hair that disappears into his far too-low slung pants. Her eyes linger on the sharp v of his hips as he reaches forward and grabs a bottle off the table, bare arms flexing and relaxing as his fingers close over the neck of the bottle. He throws it back, adam's apple bobbing as he takes several long pulls and then his fingers find the laces of his leathers.

Her heart beats in her chest as he slides his thumb between skin and leather. She licks her lips and tilts her head to the side – wondering if the skin there is damp, if it tastes like rum and salt and the sea –

A particularly loud screech from Ruby pulls her from her fascination and she jumps, shaking her head hard.

"Hey!" She screams it at the top of her lungs just as Hook pulls at one of the laces. The entire bar stills, going eerily silent – every face in the room snapping to her. "What the _actual fuck_ is going on here?"

She studiously avoids looking at Hook, instead directing her focus to David who is still staring at Hook in -to be completely honest – a sickening combination of admiration and curiosity.

Ruby snickers and Emma raises both her eyebrows at her. Ruby gives her a knowing look.

"Research."

Her life. _Her fucking life._

-/-

"It seems I underestimated the she-wolf." Hook grumbles. He teeters slightly to the side and she rolls her eyes, grabbing his elbow and righting him as they walk towards the docks. She has to hand it to Ruby – when the woman sets herself to a goal, she certainly follows through.

"No kidding." Hook sighs and leans into her, fingers twirling absentmindedly with her hair. She ignores the goosebumps that flare across her skin and instead shuffles his weight, pushing back slightly. "What made you decide to play _strip poker_ in a crowded bar?"

He snickers in her ear and his breath is warm against the skin of her neck. "Why, Swan? Jealous?"

She bites the inside of her cheek and stops suddenly. Hook lets out a grunt and stumbles slightly, fingers clamping over her to hold himself steady.

"I'm not jealous."

He snorts. "Aye, keep telling yourself that, love." He raises both eyebrows high on his head. "I saw how you looked at me." He leans in close, nose grazing the side of her cheek and her eyelids flutter, breathing him in deep. Her fingers fold against his vest as his lips linger about hers.

If she just pushes up, just the slightest bit -

"I may be drunk as a bloody ox, but I can still read you like a book." He pulls back suddenly and she opens her eyes to find him giving her a wide and silly grin. Her lips twitch in response and he notices, eyes crinkling in amusement.

_Stupid pirate_.

She kicks him in the knee before he can get too cocky, sending his drunk ass flailing to the ground.

-/-

"Don't you want to stay, darling?"

She looks down at him on his bed, sprawled out face-first in the pillow, hand reaching out to her. He turns over with a dramatic sigh and grins, tongue doing something _absolutely_ salacious.

"I'll take care of you." He practically purrs and her stomach clenches low down, the promise in his words striking true despite his ridiculously inebriated state. He arches a single eyebrow and then – hiccups.

He _hiccups_.

He looks horrified, heavily ringed fingers clamping over his mouth. She rolls her eyes and reaches for the blanket at the edge of his bed, tossing it over him.

"Go to sleep, Hook."

-/-

She can't get the image of him out of her head – the stretch and pull of his muscles, the way his hair dropped down low over his forehead, the light pattern of scars that flashed across his chest as he reached for the bottle.

Not letting herself overthink it, she climbs up the gangplank of the ship, bottle of rum tucked safely under her arm. She knocks once at the trapdoor the leads down into his quarters before swinging it open and carefully letting herself down. She feels warm fingers on her waist as he assists her, palm resting against the small of her back. She gives him a once-over, pleased to see that he's recovered from what she's sure was a _bitch _of a hangover.

He looks at the bottle in her hand curiously, both eyebrows arching up when she tosses him a pack of cards.

"Poker?"

-/-

She taps her fingers against her lips and he shifts in his seat, hand scratching roughly at the back of his head. It makes his hair stand up in a multitude of different directions and she grins.

"Are we playing with Ruby's rules?"

He blinks several times in quick succession and it's cute how hard he's trying to keep his eyes on her face. There are spots of color high on his cheek bones and this is definitely _not_ what she expected from captain-freaking-innuendo.

"Aye, lass." He swallows hard. "You can take your garment back."

He picks up the shirt she lost in the first round with his hook and holds it out to her over the table, focusing on a spot just over her shoulder. She shakes her head and his eyes jump back to her – arm still outstretched.

"Ruby's rules say you can either take a piece of clothing back, or choose something to come off someone else. Correct?"

He blinks at her slowly and then suddenly, his whole demeanor changes. He drops his arm back to the table and understanding crosses his features – a slow and seductive smile working its way over his lips. She feels heat pool low in her stomach as he _finally_ seems to get it, leaning back casually in his seat.

His eyes drift slowly from her eyes to her neck to her barely covered breasts. The lace is see-through and leaves little to the imagination (it's why she picked it for _god's sake_) and he makes an appreciative sound low in his throat as his gaze sweeps over her. She can feel her blush work its way from her cheekbones down her neck and he runs his tongue along his teeth.

"You know, love." His eyes slide languorously back up to hers. She shifts in her seat, clenching her thighs together when she sees how big his pupils are. "I always did wonder just how far that blush of yours spread to."

His eyes look pointedly down at her breasts and she smirks, feeling her bravado rise in the face of his challenge.

"Lose the shirt, pirate."

Hand and hook go to the hem of his shirt and he smirks. "As the lady commands."

-/-

She folds on a royal flush, laying her cards down face up. He stares at the cards with intensity for a few moments, blinking up to lock gazes with her – tongue peeking out and sliding along his lips. As she works her jeans slowly down her hips, warm fingers slide along her spine – his breath sudden and hot in her ear.

They don't make it to another round.

-/-

Ruby smirks as she serves them both pancakes the next morning, looking pointedly at the edge of a bruise peeking out of Emma's turtleneck.

She snickers. "You're welcome."


	6. Tattoos

**Emma + Tattoos**

She gets the buttercup done on a whim. She's walking home from school and the flashing neon lights of the tattoo parlor on the corner of Main beckon to her, whispering to her rebellious side and giving her the courage to push open the door. The thick scent of ink and pencil greets her and the man behind the counter is friendly – nicer to her than anyone has been in years. Her fingers don't even shake when she points at the delicate flower design – something in her pulling her towards it but she doesn't know why.

The burn feels nice – the steady vibration of the needle humming against her skin. It makes her _feel_ and she grins as the man cleans and wraps it, tapping against it with her free fingers the rest of the way home.

Her foster parents aren't pleased but she smiles when she lies in bed that night, thumb running over the raised and red skin.

(He kisses it constantly in a seemingly unconscious gesture – grabbing her arm when he's about to rush out the door, tangling his fingers with hers in the hazy moments between dreaming and waking, over lunch at Granny's when he's laughing loud at one of Henry's jokes. His lips are always warm and smooth against the fragile skin of her wrist and she smiles.)

-/-

She gets the delicate compass tattoo low on her hip when she's released from prison – because she's lost and tired and alone and she just needs to _feel_.

The buzz is electric – vibrating against the sharp jut of her hip until her whole body is humming. She stares blankly at the faded and cracked ceiling tiles of the parlor and blinks away tears as she thinks of a screaming baby with eyes just like _his_.

(It isn't until she meets _him_ that she begins to think that her desire for a compass was more than a coincidence. She still doesn't believe in _fate_ and _happy endings_ and _true love_ but he is a pirate and they _did _go on a journey for a compass – once upon a time. It's more than a little suspect.)

(When he sees it for the first time - his eyes landing on the thin black lines as his desperate fingers work to pull down her jeans, her panting and flushed beneath him on the _ridiculously _small bed in his quarters – his entire body stills. His eyes snap up to hers and she opens and closes her mouth a couple times, settling on a moan instead of words when his head dips down low, his tongue warm and wet against her skin – tracing the lines and searing them into her.)

(Even years later - after they've come together more times than she can remember – it never fails to make him lose control.)

("Made for me." His whispers against her skin. "It's like you were bloody _made for me_.")

-/-

She gets the arrow on her neck - small and delicate and just under her hairline – when she's able to rent out her first apartment. The apartment is small, but it's hers, and she feels her chest swell with accomplishment that she has a place to call home.

She doesn't let her mind linger on how empty this home feels when she comes back alone at night, body aching from chasing down a mark. The arrow reminds her that she has a new direction – a whole new life to discover. The thoughts of the life she almost had are much easier to push away the older she gets and when the needle meets her skin – they are hardly a whisper.

(His fingers slide under her hair when she's agitated or nervous, thumb stroking against the lightly raised skin. He gives her that smile that's just for her and his eyes shine blue - so _blue_ – lips kissing at the corner of her mouth.)

(He always knows what she needs – never has to ask.)

(_Open book._)

-/-

He has coordinates on his left shoulder, neat and ordered in two small rows. She traces them while he lies on his stomach in bed, the numbers moving as he shoulders stretch and flex – arms pushing out further beneath the pillows.

"What are these?" She whispers.

He blinks at her with sleepy eyes, lazy grin tilting his lips. "A location." Warm fingers tug her closer by the hem of her shirt. "Go to sleep, love."

(One day when she's waiting alone in the cabin of his ship, flipping idly through a navigation book, she sees the familiar numbers written below a mark on a map in his narrow and neat handwriting. Her finger shakes as she traces the line from the location to the margin – four words in the same neat scrawl making her heart pound.

_Enchanted Forest. The tree._)


	7. Touch

**Hook and Emma + Touch**

He's not overly fond of physical affection – neither of them are really – spending far too much of their lives alone to be entirely comfortable with the casual touches of intimacy.

He likes his words instead – his lilting voice telling her _always_ how he feels, what she means to him. He tells her with a grin across the table at Granny's, with a vulgar wiggle of his eyebrows in front of her father. He whispers it against her skin as he moves above her in bed, trailing kisses across her collarbone, fingers sure and smooth over her stomach.

They slowly allow themselves the comfort of touch – falling headfirst into it.

(As they do with most things.)

She's lying on the couch with a book when he returns from the docks, hair wild and windswept from the brisk November weather. He kicks off his boots by the door and shuffles over to her with a wide yawn, body trembling with the force of it. He nudges her knees apart and slides in-between them, plopping down face first into her stomach without so much as a _hello_. She stares down at his mop of black hair in amusement and snorts to herself when his entire body relaxes, gentle snore echoing against her chest.

She runs her fingers through his hair and lets him sleep.

-/-

She tosses and turns in the empty bed, kicking the covers off of her with a frustrated sigh. She stares hard at the ceiling and makes her decision, sliding out of the bed and pulling on a pair of jeans. She tugs a hoodie over her head and trudges out the door, very mindful of the fact that it is close to 3 in the morning and she is being _ridiculous_.

He startles awake when she drops down into the captain's quarters - practically falling out of the tiny bed when his hazy mind registers it's her.

"Emma, what's going on? Are you alright?"

He sits up and the sheets pool around his waist, exposing his bare torso and the large tattoo over his heart. It's some sort of emblem, half marred by a brutal and terrible scar. Her fingers itch to run over it, like they have so many times before, and she takes a step closer.

"Are you hurt?"

He makes to stand but she shakes her head. "No. I couldn't sleep."

She takes off her jacket and throws it over the chair behind his desk, floorboard creaking under her feet as she walks to the bed. She slides off her shoes and climbs over him, wiggling down into the warm sheets. She relaxes with a sigh as his calming scent washes over her.

He remains half-seated, his gaze burning a hole into the back of her head. She reaches blindly behind her and grabs his fingers, tugging his arm over her waist.

"Can we just go to sleep, please?"

He pauses for another beat before relaxing fully into the bed, wrapping his arm tight around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. His fingers slide under the hem of her t-shirt, sighing when he finds bare skin.

She falls asleep instantly.

-/-

He's washing the dishes, sleeves rolled up above his elbows, humming some melodic tune under his breath. He looks so casual and _domestic_ that she grins, taking a sip from her wine glass as she slides off her stool.

He places a plate in the dishwasher as she wraps her arms around his waist, ear flat against his back so she can hear it when his breath stutters in his chest. He tenses and then relaxes, soapy fingers dancing over the bare skin of her arm.

-/-

She's quiet as he traces mindless patterns into her skin, his blue eyes focused on the water as the Jolly Roger rocks beneath them. The sun is setting – casting the ship in purples and oranges, a light summer breeze blowing off the inlet.

"What are you thinking about?" She mutters and his hand soothes over her thigh, nails scratching lightly. She hums happily under her breath and he grins down at her.

"My love for you." He squeezes her kneecap. "How it's like my love for the sea – built into my very bones."

She rolls her eyes even as a light blush climbs her cheeks. She punches him lightly in the shoulder and he laughs, tangling her fingers with his and bringing their joined hands to his lips.

-/-

Her hands shake as they hover over his face, his torso, his arms. He blinks up at her with heavy eyes and she whimpers. An explosion sounds behind them and her palms press against his cheeks.

"Are you hurt?"

He grins. "'Tis but a scratch, love." His hand soothes over her cheek, thumb swiping against her lip. "I'll be just fine."

Still, she doesn't relax until they are back in the loft – until she's ran her hands over every inch of bare skin – until he is moving within her, with quick and frantic movements, needy noises escaping her lips with every thrust of his hips - until she is laying against him, his heartbeat sure and steady beneath her ear.

His hand runs along her spine. "I'm just fine."

-/-

He touches her nose – quick and carefree. Her eyes widen and he laughs at the look on her face.

"Did you just _boop_ me?"

-/-

Her feet slide between his legs and he groans, trying to shift away. But she clamps her arms around him and shifts closer, cold feet seeking warm skin.

"Emma." He whines and she snickers under her breath.

-/-

Her favorite touches are the ones he's seemingly unaware of – the way his hand searches for her when he rolls over in the dead of night – the way his knees nudge at hers under the table - the way his fingers overlap hers when he's being obnoxious in the grocery store and tries to hijack the cart ("But I'm a captain, love.").

They make her heart swell and pound and she never thought it would be so easy.

His hand twists her hair away from her face as he gives her a sloppy kiss, her laugh loud in the bedroom. A tiny gurgle sounds from the crib at the foot of the bed and she gives him a look.

"Now you've done it. You woke the little pirate."

He just smiles at her, all teeth and happiness. His nose nudges at the skin beneath her ear and then he's sliding out of bed, reaching into the crib and carefully pulling their son against his chest.

"But I do believe _you_ are the one who woke the pirate, darling."


	8. Kids

**Hook + Kids**

He's quiet as he sits next to her, fingers pulled tight around his mug. She follows his gaze to her parents - David curled protectively over Mary Margaret, hands resting with a gentle smile on her swollen belly.

Something deep in Emma's chest shifts as she regards them – so obviously happy and in love with her little sister – and she frowns down at the table. Heavily ringed fingers crawl over to hers and his grip is light as he brings her hand to his lips. He kisses her palm and his blue eyes are understanding as his mouth twitches up into a sad smile.

"You're beautiful." He whispers and she rolls her eyes, snatching her hand back. But she hums and lets her head rest on his shoulder, his arm tugging her in close.

-/-

She catches him staring again when they're at the small house Mary Margaret and David recent moved into – a cottage on the edge of town. He frowns as he watches Mary Margaret pull something from the fridge, hand absentmindedly resting on her stomach.

She tucks herself into his side, arms wrapping around his waist and he jumps, blinking rapidly down at her.

"Hey." She whispers and her fingers slide against his back, noting the tension in his muscles. "Where did you go?"

Pain briefly filters over his face but then he's smiling, letting his hand cup her cheek. She sighs into his mouth as he leans back into her, pressing his lips to hers.

"Nowhere, lass." His thumb slides under her eye, twists back into her hair. "I've been right here."

-/-

He tosses and turns in his sleep – sheets wrapping tight around his torso, fingers clenching in his hair. He trembles against her and when she wakes him with soothing words and gentle kisses, his eyes snap open with a heaving breath.

"You're okay." She whispers and his blue eyes are wide as he stares up at her, balanced over him. She thumbs at the corner of his lips. "You're alright."

His fingers are tight against her hip and he breathes out another stilted, harsh breath before turning them over, covering her body with his and fusing their mouths together. He's desperate and needy as he tugs at her clothes – rough sounds lodged in the back of his throat.

She lets him take her – hips sliding against hers, his eyes wild and bright in the dark room. She pants and arches beneath him and when they finish he collapses into her neck, fingers shaking as they twist through her hair.

She stares up at the ceiling and kisses his sweaty skin, fingertips pressing into his shoulders.

"You're okay."

-/-

Eva is a beautiful baby girl – a wisp of dark hair on her head, bright green eyes – gurgling happily as she stares up at Emma over her basinet. Emma smiles down at her – already head over heels in love – and David joins her, tugging a reluctant Killian behind him.

Emma meets his gaze, frowning slightly when she notices the tension there. David scoops Eva carefully into his arms and Killian's eyes drop, looking down at the baby girl in his arms. Pain flashes behind his eyes – sharp and real – and he locks it down, covering it with a quick smile.

"She's beautiful, mate." He claps David on the back. "Clearly got her looks from her mum."

David rolls his eyes, but it's half-hearted and Emma cants her head at Killian as David moves to the living room. He watches them go with a wistful look on his face and she slides her fingers through his.

"You okay?"

He nods and hums lightly under his breath, not quite meeting her gaze. Something tugs deep in her chest, but she ignores it, letting his easy smiles and gentle words chase away her anxiety.

-/-

"Killian, we need to go!"

She hops on one foot as she pulls on a shoe, tilting to the side slightly and reaching for her coat with the other hand. Killian comes shuffling out of the bedroom and she stares at him blankly.

"Why aren't you dressed?"

He scratches at the back of his head and shuffles in the frame of the door, folding his arms over his chest and looking down at his feet. "I'm feeling a bit under the weather, lass." He shrugs. "Shouldn't be around the wee one."

She pushes her arms through her jacket and makes to move closer to him, but he holds up his hand. She pauses.

"Don't want you to catch anything."

She nods, the strange feeling tightening and expanding in her chest. Henry comes barreling down the stairs and tugs at the sleeve of her coat.

"Come on, Mom! We're late!"

-/-

The loft is dark when she returns home, having dropped Henry off with Regina and Robin before swinging by the drug store and picking up some Nyquil for the sick pirate. She toes off her shoes in the entry way, hand searching blindly for the switch on the wall.

She freezes when the warm glow of the lamp illuminates the living room and the pirate slumped over on the couch. He peers up at her with bleary eyes and she notes the almost completely empty bottle of rum on the table.

Anger rises hot and fast inside of her and she drops her bag. "Sick, huh?"

He ignores her and instead pours himself another glass, downing it quickly with a strong swallow. She snatches the bottle from the table before he can reach for it again and he huffs out a frustrated sound, looking up at her with expectant eyes.

"Give it back."

Her mouth practically drops open in shock as he stares up at her with thinly veiled annoyance. "Are you joking? Killian, you _lied_ to me. You lied to me so you could stay home and _get drunk_."

He fingers his empty glass, shoulders tensing and she sighs. "What is going on with you? You've been weird for _months_ now. Is it me? Did I –" She swallows and pushes down the feelings of inadequacy that tug at her. He is different. _They _are different. "Did I do something?"

His eyes snap up to hers, wide and blue and he shakes his head. "Emma, no. No –"

"Well then, what is it?" She resists the urge to stomp her foot like a petulant teenager. "You've been acting strange ever since David and Mary Margaret had the baby."

He freezes, entire body going rigid, and she watches as his eyes harden. His gaze drop back down to the bottle and he leans forward suddenly, snatching it out of her hand and bringing it to his lips. He gulps greedily, throwing his head back until the bottle is empty. He puts it back on the table and leans back on the couch, smirking up at her.

His eyes are cold and dark and entirely _Hook_ and she shudders at the way her openly peruses her. He tilts his head as he fingers the hem of her coat. "Perhaps we should table this conversation and I can show you how else I'm _feeling_, darling."

She pulls back out of his grip and he laughs, ignoring the way she breaks at the callous sound. "Perhaps _not_ then." He falls back into the cushions of the couch. "Well do make yourself useful, love. Fetch another bottle from the kitchen."

She bristles at the command. "Get out."

He blinks up at her and she fists her hand in the soft cotton of his shirt, hauling him up and off the couch. "You are not welcome in this house if you are going to lie to me. Get out."

She pushes him towards the door and he doesn't even fight it, just grabs his coat on the way out. He doesn't bother looking back, the door slamming shut behind him.

-/-

The Rabbit Hole is empty as she sips at her Jack quietly in the corner, fingers twisting with the pendant around her neck. Sadness and anger twist unhappily in her gut and she stares hard at the worn wood of the table.

He had _lied_ to her – spoken to her like she was _nothing_.

She jumps when a body slides across the table from her, the bright red cap of her sudden guest making her smile despite herself.

"Hello, Smee." She mutters and the portly man grins, looking at the bar around them.

"Sherriff." He nods. "Where is our dear Captain?"

Emma's face drops and she looks down at her drink, swirling it and watching as the amber liquid sloshes at the sides of the tumbler. "Good question." She grumbles to herself, but Smee takes no notice. His eyes dart back over to hers and he gives her a small, secret smile.

"Listen, there has been something I've wanted to say to you."

She straightens slightly and meets the man's gaze. He cheeks flush hot and he looks down at his own beer before peering back up at her quickly.

"I wanted to thank you, um, for bringing him back." Emma arches a brow and Smee blushes deeper. "The Captain."

Emma sips carefully at her drink. "What do you mean?"

"He was my friend before he was Hook." Smee says quietly and understanding washes over Emma in a wave. "Ever since he's found you he's been more like he was before."

Emma blinks at him and she must still look confused because Smee continues, chuckling ruefully down at his mug. "We all lost a lot when he lost his hand. So thank you, for giving that back to me. I'm much indebted."

Her cheeks flush hot at the compliment and she sighs. "I'm not so sure I'm entirely to thank there." She thinks of his hard eyes and sharp words.

Smee shakes his head. "No, no – it's all you. None of us thought he would recover after losing Milah and the child. He was – "

She cuts him off abruptly, cold dread settling in the pit of her stomach and spreading outwards through her limbs. "What did you just say?"

Smee looks at her in concern. "After he lost Milah?"

Emma nods, shaking hands cupping her drink. "She was – " She swallows hard. "She was pregnant?"

Smee nods slowly, eyebrows furrowing on his forehead. Suddenly his eyes widen and he practically drops his mug to the floor. "Oh bloody hell, oh shit. He didn't tell you?"

But she ignores him, already striding towards the door, pulling her coat on haphazardly.

-/-

Her heart beats madly as she drops unceremoniously down into the captain's quarters, her eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness of the cabin. She finally finds him slouched over his desk, fingers curled around the neck of a bottle, his breathing even and ragged with troubled sleep.

She lets her gaze drift over the rest of the cabin and her eyes burn as she takes in the disarray – the books thrown across the room, the shattered glass and upturned furniture that visually demonstrates his anger. Her hand covers her mouth as she thinks of his pain and it _hurts_ because she knows what it's like to lose a child, but she had hers back.

He lost _everything_.

She slowly works her way over to his still form, reaching out carefully and pushing her fingers through his hair. He sighs and pushes into her grip, shifting slightly over the desk.

"Emma." He mutters and she breaks further. Blue eyes open and blink up at her and he starts when he sees her tears.

"Emma?" He pushes up from the desk slowly, alcohol making him sluggish. His hand cups her cheek as his thumb catches her tears. "Emma, love, I'm so sorry. I didn't – "

She shakes her head hard, sob lodged in the back of her throat as her hand comes up to grip hers against her cheek. "No." She whispers. "I'm so sorry."

He looks at her in confusion and she hiccups another sob, fingers tangling with his. He stares at her steadily and then sudden realization comes crashing down behind his blue eyes. He hardens in front of her and attempts to pull his hand out of her grip. She holds him tight and he breathes in a sharp breath.

"Who told you?" He asks quietly and she just cries in response. She aches to reach out and pull him to her, the broken man behind the pirate.

He wrenches himself away and begins to tear through cabinets, throwing things to the ground in haste as he looks for another bottle of rum.

"Killian – "

He ignores her. "Bloody Smee. Tell me, love. Did you seek him out for information on me? On why I'm so bloody damaged and broken?"

He focuses his intense gaze on her as he finally finds a new bottle, stalking over to her and pushing her hard against the wall. "Did you want to know my demons? On how I got the woman I loved killed?" His voice breaks and she breaks with him, shattering to a million pieces at the pain radiating from him in waves. "On how I killed our – "

A whimper whispers unbidden through his lips and he shakes against her. He bites his lip and clenches his eyes shut and she raises shaking hands to cup his cheeks. "It wasn't your fault."

His forehead falls against her collarbone and his trembling increases, bottle slipping through his fingers and falling to the ground.

"I put her in harm's way." He says brokenly. "I stood there helpless as she had her heart ripped out. I promised –" He heaves a deep, shuddering breath against her skin. "I promised I'd protect them both."

"It wasn't your fault." She says again and her heart constricts as she feels moisture against her chest. His arms circle around her and tighten painfully, but she just pulls him closer.

"It wasn't your fault." Her voice breaks as he does – collapsing to his knees in front of her.

-/-

They lay in his small bed, her fingers combing carefully through his hair. She can feel him thinking and feeling, his fingers running gently back and forth over her collarbone.

"She was barely three months." He whispers and her hand stills for a moment before continuing its circuit. "Hardly showing, really. Just a firmness in her stomach."

He sighs and pushes his face further into her. "We were returning to the town from whence she came, where Baelfire was. She wanted to bring him with us, start a new life. I was going to give up piracy, hand the Jolly off to a member of the crew." He snorts. "Smee was bloody pleased as a peacock, he was. We were going to start over."

His voice is wistful and she scratches her nails lightly against his scalp. She can guess the rest of the story, she's heard it pieced together - how Rumplestiltskin found them, took his hand and his love and filled Killian with murderous rage.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She whispers and he tilts his head up to look at her, resting his chin on her chest.

"I didn't know how." He says simply. She swipes at the hollow of his eye and tilts her head to regard him.

"You're a good man." She says and she can see he still doesn't believe her, knows he carries the weight of lives lost heavy on his shoulders. She lets him read the truth in her eyes as she stares down at him. "I love you."

He presses a kiss to her palm, her wrist, the inside of her elbow. He sighs and places his head back against her, breathes out.

"I love you, too."

-/-

His body trembles as he stands over the basinet, Eva squirming happily on the small bed of blankets. Emma slides her fingers over his back in reassurance and he glances over at her, blue eyes blown open wide in apprehension.

"Go on." She whispers.

His hand reaches out to lightly touch against a small, curled fist – Eva's fingers wrapping tight around one of his. He smiles slightly and Emma grins.

"Hello, little princess." He is gentle as he scoops her carefully into his arms, tucking her against him and humming lightly under his breath. Emma blinks back the tears at the look of awe on his face and steps back, giving him a moment alone.


	9. Vows

**Emma and Hook + Vows**

"There's not a day that will go by that I won't think of you."

The lines on his forehead deepen as he looks at her with careful eyes, fingers clenched tight at his waist. She can see the way he trembles, the way he physically holds himself back from her. She lets her gaze follow the tension in his jaw – how his lips part on a carefully concealed shaky breath.

She smiles and he folds, falling forward slightly.

"Good." She whispers, mirroring his vow with her own.

The softness in his smile makes her heart twist and it's the last thing she thinks about before the smoke claims them and he's nothing but a dream.

-/-

Her hands shake as she holds them out, clenching her eyes shut and focusing on the steady thrum of magic coursing through her body. The growls of the monkeys beyond the barrier are overwhelming, their teeth clacking together as they throw their heaving bodies into the glowing wall that separates her from them.

She feels each blow - pounding into her, sapping her strength.

"Swan, you need to go."

She ignores his lilting voice in her ear and pushes her hands out harder, the wall glowing a deeper red with the push of her magic.

"Emma-"

"No." She finally opens her eyes and looks over at him - cataloging the deep gash on his forehead, the bruise along his jaw. "I'm not leaving you."

Something shifts behind those big blue eyes of his and he steps forward, hand releasing his sword to reach for her.

"No." She says again and this time it's not a demand, but a plea. Her voice is soft and broken and her body trembles. "I won't."

He stares at her for a long moment, stepping forward carefully and letting his fingers trace along her cheek. The roaring around her drowns out until it's nothing but a light buzz and she sighs.

-/-

She hastily shoves things into a bag for Henry – an extra hoodie, a pair of socks. Hook watches her as he leans against the doorway to the room, arms and legs crossed in casual indifference.

"If you need anything, call me. Henry has my cell phone number and it should only be for a little bit, just until we get this thing settled with the witch. If he gets to be too much, you can just tell him to – "

"Lass, stop." His hand is gentle on her arm and she freezes, dropping the duffle to the floor. She scrubs her palms against her eyes until she sees spots.

She's tired, so tired.

He's staring at her with that same soft expression as before and she feels her body sway closer to his, her forehead falling against his collarbone. His palm smoothes against her spine and fingers lightly at the tension between her shoulders.

"I will keep your boy safe."

She lets her fingers anchor in the chain around his neck as she tilts her nose into his warm skin. His other arm wraps around her hips, pulling her in tight.

"I know."

-/-

His breath is warm against her neck as he hovers above her, sheets pooled low around both of their waists. His fingers dance lightly across her breast, thumbing lightly at her nipple before sliding over the smooth skin of her stomach. She arches into his touch and he grins into her skin.

"Hook." She whispers. Her fingers sift through his hair and he tilts his head up, blue eyes shining in the moonlight of his cabin.

Heat spikes between her thighs, warm and wet as his hand grasps at her leg, spreading her and hitching her up around his hip. He slides against her and she groans.

He hums lightly against her lips, brushing his nose against hers with a tender nudge. "I'll make you feel good, darling."

-/-

He wakes with a gasping breath, shoulders hunched as his body shoots up in bed. She reaches for him blindly but he twists out of her grip, fingers ripping the sheets back as his eyes scan her repeatedly. His hand follows, smoothing over her skin, pressing hard over her chest.

"I'm right here." She whispers and he falls back to the bed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her on top of him, his movements jerky and rough. She settles against him, legs falling to either side of his hips as he buries his face in her neck, scruff tickling at the hollow of her throat. "I'm not going anywhere."

She pulls the sheets back over them both and settles into his arms, sliding her hands down his biceps and lacing her fingers through his. He whimpers against her skin and she lets her lips linger against his forehead, the corner of his eye, the skin beneath his ear.

"I'm not going anywhere."

-/-

He's quiet as she tucks herself into his arms, taking the bottle of rum that hangs loosely from his fingers. He smiles down at her before looking back out at the sunset over the inlet, hand rubbing a gentle circuit against her arm as she drinks.

"Perhaps we should get married." He states quietly and a very long time ago, that statement would scare her – cause those walls of hers to come crashing down around her heart. But now she feels nothing but utter contentment, sitting here on the deck of his ship – safe in his arms. She squints her eyes in contemplation and takes another sip from the bottle before handing it back to him.

"Perhaps we should." She agrees. He chuckles lowly and cants his head in obvious surprise.

"What?" She grins.

He gives her favorite smile in return, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Always a surprise, Swan." He shakes his head slightly and adjusts her in his arms. "I believe we should exchange vows then, yes? That's how these things work?"

"What, now?"

"I am a captain, darling. Perfectly capable of marrying us myself. I don't fancy either of us as the big ceremony type, and I don't want to give you the opportunity to take back your affirmation." He gives her a pointed look with an arched brow and she snickers. Smart man.

"You just don't want to have to ask my father for permission."

He snorts. "Please, Dave would be over the moon to have me as a son."

Emma rolls her eyes in response, knowing her father would probably like to be much _more_ with the pirate. But she bites back her retort and closes her eyes, tilting her head so her lips brush against his chin. He sighs happily and squeezes his arms a bit tighter around her.

Her fingers drift against his forearm. "I will love you." She whispers and its simple, but enough. The vows they've made to each other over the years stack up inside her and tumble out with the four simple words. His eyes tell her she's right and he kisses her lips softly.

"And I will love you." His voice is husky and deep and she blinks away the wave of emotion that rises within her. "For all of time."

She rolls her eyes at his insistence to one-up her and he snickers in her ear, nipping at it lightly. She barely jumps when his fingers slide his absolutely obnoxious and ostentatious ruby red ring on her finger.

"Are you kidding?" She wiggles her fingers in the fading sunlight, watching as the rays dance off the jewel. It's absurd. And massive.

And perfect.

His lips press into her hair. "Absolutely not, Mrs. Jones."


	10. A Stupid Plan (Executed to Perfection)

**Hook and Emma + A Stupid Plan (Executed to Perfection)**

"So what's the plan again?" She continues coiling rope around her arm and he sighs at her, exasperated. He kicks at her backpack idly, _like a child_, and huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and scratching at his ear.

"I've explained it _three_ bloody times."

She snatches her backpack away from his foot with a glare and begins to stuff the rope in. "Well _excuse me _for wanting to be certain on the particulars."

He rolls his eyes and helps her pull on the knapsack, _ever the gentleman_, fingers lingering on the strap. He looks at her with wide eyes, speaking intentionally slow – the moron.

"I will cause a distraction, you will scale the wall. I'll be right behind you when they drag me in as prisoner." She nods, frowning when she thinks of him being restrained by the dark guards that linger around the _asshole_ of a King they're trying to steal from. "I've no doubt they'll put me before the King and then that's when you – " He gestures wildly with his hand.

She stares at him blankly. "When I what?"

He drops his head back to stare at the heavens, long-suffering sigh wheezing out from between his lips. She restrains herself from kicking him.

"Are you or are you not an exceptionally powerful magical being?"

She blushes lightly as he tilts his head back down to regard her and a smile lifts the corner of his lips, eyes softening fractionally. His thumb lingers over the warmth in her skin and she leans into his touch.

"This is a stupid plan." She mutters.

He grins. "Aye. They always are."

-/-

She's changed her mind. It's a _really _stupid plan.

She's huddled behind some ridiculous statue - arm scratched to _shit_ because Hook _vastly _overestimated her climbing skills – and Hook, well Hook is currently unconscious in the middle of the goddamned royal lobby.

Fucking _stupid_ plan.

She doesn't know when she's supposed to intercede here, because Hook failed to mention that particular detail, but the guards are hauling his limp body around like a rag doll and the one on the left has been eyeing him with something a little too close to _passionate longing_ for her liking. She certainly doesn't want him _taken advantage of_ down in the dungeons. So she sighs and pushes herself out from behind the statue, the guards stilling comically as she casually strolls in.

"Oh, hey." She smiles and their hands go to their sword belts. She puts her hands palm out in supplication, and takes a step back. "Listen guys, I'm just here for the party."

The gruff guy on the left finally tears his eyes away from the pirate's leather clad ass and takes a strong step towards her. Why all the evil soldiers in the Enchanted Forest are insistent upon wearing gauche face masks is beyond her. How do they breathe? How do they communicate? Do they ever get hot? Does it leave a funny imprint on their skin when they take it off at night? _Do _they take it off at night?

"What party?" He mutters and Emma has to cant her head to understand him. Ridiculous, _ridiculous_ face masks.

She's just about to scrounge up another snarky reply when Hook decides to make himself useful and kicks out, knocking the guard flat on his ass. She springs into motion, throwing her arm out and sending a blast of magic to the right, knocking the other guard unconscious.

She steps over the guard to help him up. He gives her an annoyed look as she runs her fingers through his hair, feeling the golf ball sized bump at the base of his skull.

"How long did it take you to think up that absolutely _delightful _retort, Swan?"

She clenches her fist against the sparks of magic that flare out of her with the rise of anger and he just grins.

-/-

"You are never coming up with the plan again!" She shouts as she falls backwards, the sword of the man in front of her crashing against her own. Hook catches her lightly and pushes her back with a strong hand between her shoulders. She uses the momentum to force the guard back, and knocks him out with a right hook to the jaw.

"You said that last time, love." Hook grumbles as he spins and twirls (_fucking showboating, as usual_), taking out another two guards. The book they came for is safely tucked away in her bag but their hosts are not so happy about it. "Do make up your mind."

She growls as she pushes her magic out around them, forming a temporary barrier between them and the mass of guards in the small room. Hook sighs, relieved for a moment, resting his hands on his knees. She raises both eyebrows down at him.

"Are you serious right now?"

The angry shouts of the guards come muffled through the barrier, their swords coming down hard on the shimmering screen. Hook gives her a look.

"Gods above, lass. I need a moment."

She nods, crossing her arms over her chest. "Please, take as long as you like."

"Callousness doesn't suit you, love." He sighs, standing back up and sheathing his sword. Her brows knit in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

He grabs her hand and stomps backwards, making his way to the small window at the back of the large hall. He pushes her up with hand and hook insistent upon her hip until she's on the very ledge, feet swinging outwards. She shakes her head with a hard swallow as she looks down at the _very steep_ drop to the waters below.

"No." She says.

He squeezes in next to her and she can feel her magic wavering, the barrier becoming weaker with each stroke of the sword. Hook doesn't say anything, just tugs her into him, pressing his lips firmly against her forehead.

"Bombs away, darling."

He drops first and she _swears to god, _she is going to fucking _murder_his ass. Never again. They were never going on a dual mission _again_.

She screams bloody murder as she drops, wind whipping through her hair – stomach coming up to reside somewhere in her throat. She's never been one for flying – or heights, for that matter – and this certainly does nothing to assuage those fears.

She comes up sputtering, swiping wildly at her eyes. When she can finally see again, he's bobbing merrily up and down in the water across from her. He gives her another wide grin as the shouts from the palace guards echo from way above them.

"You're lucky I enchanted this bag to be waterproof before we left." She scowls angrily at him. "If only the same could be said for my clothing."

He chuckles and she feels fingers dipping into the waistband of her pants, anchoring on her belt and tugging her towards him. "Relax, darling. Now you have an excuse to get out of them."

She rolls her eyes, fighting the smile pulling at the corner of her lips. They slowly begin to make their way to the rock quarries, content to fold themselves into one of the many caves for the night. He will be able to make them a fire, and the cliffs are far too steep for any of the soldiers to come upon them.

And no one was stupid enough to make that jump – outside of themselves, of course.

"I'm not sure who that serves, Killian."

The look he gives her can only be described as incredibly _indecent_, tongue sliding against his teeth and eyebrows waggling. She sighs and follows him through the water.

"Another stupid plan." She pokes him between his shoulder blades.

He chuckles, fingers tangling with hers beneath the water. "Aye, my love. Executed to perfection."


	11. Massage

**Hook and Emma + Massage**

It happens purely by accident first. He's shuffling about the war room - shoulders sagged, body tense - and she can't help but notice the deep circles under his eyes. She tracks his slow movement around the room and frowns, watching as his fingers massage lightly at the base of his neck.

She isn't sure _what_ they are. They've both been avoiding the conversation since they got back to the Enchanted Forest – choosing instead to immerse themselves in the wide variety of calamities that demanded their attention. _How do you feel about Hook?_ Oh look, the Wicked Witch of the West decided to set an entire village on fire. _What do you want from him?_ Delightful, a massive fleet of flying monkeys just ripped the sail from the Jolly Roger.

He had _not _been pleased.

Still, she felt his gaze on her whenever she entered a room – a warm sort of buzzing settling in her stomach when his blue eyes found her. They joked with one another – smiled and engaged in casual touching. There was a fleeting moment in the heat of the battle after she had been flung rather unceremoniously into his arms by a wayward tornado that their lips had _almost_ brushed, his fingers grasping her face, his eyes so wide and afraid – but other than that – nothing.

She sighs as he tilts his head to the side with a wince, closing her book and sliding her legs off the table in front of her. She makes her decision easily enough, tired of watching him gripe and grumble about the room.

"Come here." She mutters.

He looks at her in surprise, hand freezing against his neck. "What?"

She rolls her eyes and stands, gesturing to her empty chair. He takes a wary step forward and – _jesus_, it's not like she's going to _jump _him. Her mind makes a decidedly _unhelpful_ comment at that and she blushes lightly. He notices, of course.

Grinning he saunters over to her, dropping to the chair in front of her with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Was I _distracting_ you, love?"

She shakes her head down at him, pushing his shoulders forward and moving to stand behind the chair. "Have you not been sleeping?"

His brows furrow in confusion, even as a roguish smile tilts his lips. "Why, darling? Do you wish to _help _–"

She smacks him lightly on the back of the head and he yelps.

"Bloody hell, woman. Such violence."

"Please." She scoffs and her fingers brush lightly at the base of his neck, pushing him forward more still so that his head is bent between his shoulders. His body tenses at her tentative touch and she ignores the flash of heat as she presses her fingertips against his warm skin. "It was barely a tap."

She slides her thumb against his hairline, thankful that he's at least taken off the ridiculous leather overcoat earlier, giving her access to his neck and shoulders. She digs her fingers into the soft skin on either side of his neck and presses down firmly.

He immediately lets out the most obnoxious moan _ever_.

And she knows it's stupid – knows it's out of context – but her belly clenches.

_Damn it._

She presses in with her thumbs and slides her hands up his neck, scratching lightly at his scalp with her fingernails. He grumbles incoherently under his breath, body practically melting into a puddle under her hands.

"Jesus Hook, your neck feels like titanium."

He grunts in response.

"Haven't the faintest what that means, love." He moans again with a little whimper and – _jesus fucking christ she did not think this through_. "Is this some sort of magic?"

Her fingers still for a moment as she considers his words – honest and open and genuinely curious. The heat buzzing through her at his noises of contentment evaporates suddenly – replaced by a hollowness in her chest. The fact that no one's ever done this for him pulls at her in a familiar way and her words from so long ago echo in her mind – _you and I, we understand each other_.

Her eyes burn and she blinks rapidly, pushing and pulling at his muscles.

"No magic." She replies softly.

-/-

She happens upon him in the library, standing in the window, leather brace discarded on the small table next to him. His fingers rub gently at the skin of his marred wrist as he frowns, staring out at the view below.

"Hey." He jumps and turns, dropping his wrist down behind him, out of view. She frowns at that, making her way over to him. "You alright?"

"Aye." His eyes keep darting back and forth between her and the leather brace on the table and she can tell he's itching to put it back on. He meets her gaze with a sigh and a small smile. "Phantom pains. Been 300 years but it still aches from time to time."

She reaches for him without thinking.

When her fingers close over his arm his eyes widen fractionally, resisting her pull with a tug of his own, keeping his wrist firmly behind him. She arches a brow at him.

"Let me help." She says quietly and he blinks at her. Her chest tightens at the way he's looking at her – like he can see right through her – and she relaxes, gazing steadily back so he can see what he needs to. She's not good with words – never has been, not like him – so she lets him study her and read her like the open book he claims her to be.

He seems to find what he's looking for because he lets her tug his wrist between them. She doesn't look at it, instead lets her eyes linger on the lines of his face. One of her hands closes over his elbow to hold him steady while the other lightly rubs at the scarred skin of his wrist.

He sighs in relief, lips twitching. "You're quite sure this isn't magic?"

She chuckles under her breath and falls a little bit closer to him, the toes of her boots pressing against his, his breath warm against the skin of her cheek.

"I'm sure."

-/-

She can hear him outside of her door, shuffling back and forth. He's been out there for about fifteen minutes - apparently attempting to work up the courage to knock - and every time she thinks he's going to finally do it, there's a muffled curse and his retreating footsteps down the hall. She snickers to herself the fourth time he does it and swings the door open.

He visibly jumps in surprise and she chuckles, leaning casually against the frame. "Did you need something?"

His gaze narrows and his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek – a nervous gesture – and her stomach flips as she traces the movement.

"I was wondering – " A light blush streaks against his cheekbones and both of her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He rolls his eyes and huffs, staring up at the ceiling. "I was wondering if you'd assist me with your ministrations again."

She blinks at him – bravado thrown aside for obvious discomfort. She takes in the purplish-blue circles under his eyes and sighs, nodding and opening her door further. He steps in with a grateful glance, shuffling back and forth as she closes the door quietly.

She gestures towards her bed and he follows the motion of her arm, seductive smirk twisting his lips as he looks back to her.

"Really, Swan?" That tongue does something decidedly inappropriate and it's her turn to roll her eyes. "How very forward of you."

She pushes him lightly and he chuckles, moving towards her bed and falling face first into the mattress. He peeks up at her from under his thick lashes as his arms slide under a pillow, pulling it further beneath his head.

"You're the one who showed up at my room in the middle of the night." She places both hands against his back and he shuffles further down in the bed, closing his eyes as she pushes lightly between his shoulder blades.

"Aye, but you opened the door. Gods above, that feels good." He groans lightly under his breath as she presses her fingertips into the soft flesh of his shoulders. Heat flares low in her belly and she grimaces. _Didn't think this one through – again_.

"What _would _the King and Queen say about a pirate being in the princess's quarters?" The words are muffled as he presses his face further into the pillow and she snorts.

"I'm pretty sure the King would be jealous of the princess."

Hook chuckles in response, the sound doing dangerous things to her. She works quietly, a muffled groan or moan filling the silence between them, her hands pressing down on him through the thin cotton of his shirt. His body relaxes as she slowly works him and his light moans eventually turn into gentle snores. She leans back and smiles softly at him, face squished against her pillows, hand resting lightly on the open space next to him.

She scratches her fingers through his hair and tilts her head down at him, chest warming when he sighs lightly. She doesn't let herself overthink it when she moves back to her side of the bed, sliding carefully under the sheets and blowing out the lantern that sits on her nightstand.

She tells herself it's because he hasn't been sleeping – that she doesn't want to interrupt the few peaceful moments he can gather – but when he shifts and rolls, bed dipping slightly with the movement, his arms flinging around her middle easily (like they've done this a million times before) – she grins.

-/-

"Take off your shirt." She states casually and she feels like she's being _horribly_ unsubtle but he just shrugs, slipping his shirt up and over his shoulders and collapsing face first into her bed. She blushes hot as her eyes take in the tanned skin of his back, his strong shoulders flexing and relaxing as he stretches out, the tattoo on his shoulder shifting back and forth with a shrug. She's infinitely grateful his face is buried in her sheets because she's _sure_ he would have a comment for the look on her face.

It's become a bit of a habit – these meetings.

"Do stop ogling me, Swan." He tilts his head and gives her half a cheeky grin. She rolls her eyes and pinches the skin above his ribs lightly before nudging him closer to the center of the bed. He complies, shifting over easily.

She climbs up on the bed. He freezes.

"Emma?"

She ignores the furious beating in her chest and straddles his back, knees falling to either side of his torso. She keeps her weight forward, pressing down with her hands against the bare skin between his shoulder blades. A shock of heat runs through her at the skin to skin contact and her belly clenches deliciously.

He relaxes with a groan, but she can still feel the tension radiating as she hovers above him.

"Uh," He begins and she would laugh if she wasn't internally freaking out. _Uh_ is not a word she thought in his vocabulary. "This is different."

She shrugs and slides her thumbs down his spine. Goosebumps erupt over his skin and she bites her lip.

"Different can be good." She mutters, again feeling like a teenager. She splays her hands out at the base of his spine and kneads the tender flesh surrounding the slight dimples. He shifts his hips and groans as she presses down harder.

"Aye." He agrees softly and her heart beats impossibly faster as she trails her hands carefully across his back – less massaging and more caressing. She lightly fingers at the tattoo over his right shoulder – two narrow lines of coordinates – before shifting down and boldly pressing her lips against his neck.

A heavy sighs wracks his chest and then he relaxes fully, fingers blindly searching for her against the bed. The rough pads of his fingertips caress her knee.

"Emma?" She hears the question in his voice, knows what he's asking without him having to articulate it. She lets her nose drift along the warm skin of his neck, lips trailing lightly.

"Killian." She replies simply and suddenly he's moving – flipping over on the bed and tugging her down to him. She crashes against him as he throws her balance, her hips falling against his (and _oh jesus, those moans weren't for _nothing) as he fists his hand in her shirt.

Blue eyes stare up at her wide and unblinking as their chests heave against one another.

"Are you sure?" He whispers.

She wants to roll her eyes but settles for a soft smile instead.

"Shut up and kiss me, pirate."

He does.


	12. Affection

Hook and Emma + Affection She sits at the counter with David, sipping hot chocolate, looking over the morning paper. The hustle and the bustle of Granny's fills the comfortable silence between them and she's grateful for these moments – grateful for the silent stillness of her father and his quiet understanding. He talks when he knows she needs him to, and lets her be when he reads the tension in her face. She idly thinks she would have very much been a daddy's girl – but the thought makes her chest ache and lips tilt downwards. David folds the paper and hands her the arts section without even looking in her direction and she smiles wryly – thinking perhaps there's still time. She feels him when he enters – the hair on the back of her neck standing to attention, a low simmering heat trailing over her body like a warm blanket. His approach is slow, and it isn't until David glances over her shoulder and his face breaks out into a wide and welcoming smile (she rolls her eyes) that her suspicions are confirmed. David greets him with a clap on the shoulder and a couple casual questions about his ship as she focuses on her paper, poking at her pancakes. The gentle laughs and low cadence of their conversation makes her smile – and she is grateful they found each other – no matter how strange their relationship is at times (she is convinced her father is in love with the pirate and that is not a love triangle she is willing to participate in. She caught him staring forlornly out the window once, face tilted suspiciously in the direction of the Jolly Roger). Soon Hook is sliding onto the empty stool next to her and David is returning to his breakfast, attention drawn away by Granny behind the counter. "Sherriff." His voice is low and amused, his accent making the word sound indecent, even if it is her title. She tilts her head slightly to regard him, letting her gaze linger on the dark jeans and grey t-shirt he's taken to wearing. He looks good in modern clothes – almost too good – and he smirks when he catches her staring. Her lips twitch. "Captain." He reaches for her fork and she almost forgets to fight him as he stabs at her pancakes. She flicks him lightly as he shovels them into his mouth like a starved man, grinning goofily at her with chubby cheeks. His knee brushes hers under the counter and she pushes the plate fully under him with a sigh and a roll of her eyes, turning her attention back to the paper, trying not to smile too hard. She doesn't even like pancakes. 


End file.
